


Geraskier Drabbles

by zero4life



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22792375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zero4life/pseuds/zero4life
Summary: Collection of my tumblr drabbles. I posted there, and wanted to bundle them together so... It's all pretty random.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 140





	1. Drabbles

  1. **Index page**
  2. _A Tell_ \- Jaskier has a tell
  3. _Ice cold_ \- Jaskier needs to warm up
  4. _Sorry_ \- Geralt has to try several times to get Jaskier to forgive him.
  5. _The last letter_ \- Jaskier pours his last thoughts. (heavy **angst** )
  6. _Wish rant_. (Me rambling on about Geralt's wishes and evil djinn)
  7. _Blaviken_ \- the start of the story
  8. _Hands-_ Geralt loves Jaskier's hands




	2. Drabbles

Jaskier had a tell. The first time it took Geralt by surprise. The second time it surprised him less but amused him more. The third time Geralt began to see a pattern in the bard’s behavior. It wasn’t a tell he had when he was about to do something stupid. Which Geralt wished many times he had. It would make their lives so much easier. No instead the bard had a tell where he would fall into a certain mood. A fucking feral and icy mood. Savage and straight up i-will-murder-you. To be fair, when he got like that Geralt knew him to be very capable of the last one. People mistook the bard for a bubbly and friendly character. But there was so much more to the Bard then what the eyes could see. The witcher learned this first hand.

He shouldn’t enjoy it as much as he did. But each time this tell appeared, some half assed spiteful pig was throwing vocal daggers at Geralt and Jaskier went to war on them. The Witcher had learned to ignore them, but with the Bard by his side, that was no longer possible. Jaskier wouldn’t let a single negative tone or word slide and the Bard was adamant on making it a point not to fuck with the Witcher. Jaskier would go on a vocal assault and often Geralt had to stop the Bard from getting physical too. Jaskier was ferocious and each time there was a secret pride and affection blooming in Geralt’s chest.

Jaskier was oblivious to the fact that he had a tell. He kept asking Geralt how the other always knew when to step in even if the Bard wished he wouldn’t and would just let him blow up in people’s faces. Geralt never told him.

He didn’t tell Jaskier that the shiver running through the witcher whenever Jaskier’s voice dropped an octave and became laced with an icy chill, was a sign things were about to get real.

He didn’t tell Jaskier that he could fucking SMELL the instant fight-me-or-fuck-off scent whenever Jaskier git very pissed off.. and that he really liked the scent.

He didn’t tell Jaskier that his eyes seemed to get bluer and turn to a blaze whenever he was ready to strike with a tongue lashing… and that it took Geralt’s breath away.

And he didn’t tell Jaskier that his slow heart sped up like a racing horse whenever the Bard’s aura darkened and he prepared to step in and fight to defend /him/.

These were all signs that ‘told’ Geralt his companion was about to murder a bitch. Jaskier’s tell was amazing. Even more so the savage nature that followed.

And it just so happened that some drunk patron had insulted the witcher within an earshot of the Bard. Geralt could feel goosebumps on his own skin by merely sensing Jaskier’s hairs on the back if his neck standing on end like a hissing cat. It was beautiful. All these signs came out to play and Geralt reveled in watching Jaskier’s tell come to life before him. He allowed himself this secret pleasure before he clasped a hand around Jaskier’s wrist. Firmly holding him in place.

“How dare you speak to the white wolf that way! Do you have any fucking idea what it’s like to fight monsters day in day out for ungrateful cockless boars like you! Should i give you an example of fighting one? because i can-”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s voice is a low growl and Jaskier absolutely does not whimper at the mere vibration of it. And Geralt absolutely does not enjoy those foul words tumbling from Jaskier’s lips. Except they do.

“Tsk. You’re a bard. Why don’t you go off and play your pretty songs.”

The patron hisses. Jaskier gains a dark smile on his face.

“Allas, i can’t.”

He replies. The patron snorts and sways a bit on his feet.

“Why the hell not?”

This time it’s Geralt who shows a smile and leans in with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Because if i let go of him now, he’ll tear your fucking head off”

The patron’s eyes widen like saucers and he looks down where Geralt has a hand around Jaskier’s wrist. And then back up at the witcher.

“Can’t hold on forever”

Geralt rumbles. Never have they seen a man scramble to get away so fast. Jaskier chuckles and moves his arm to make Geralt’s hand slide from his wrist into his palm.

“Would you really let go?”

The witcher turns to him and smiles, bright golden eyes meeting sapphire blue.

“Never”


	3. Ice cold

“Geralt?“

The witcher turned to the sound of his name. Although it sounded more like teeth chattering then an actual word.

“I ah.. can’t feel my fingers.“

Jaskier was shivering out of his skin. Which was an odd thing considering all the layers of clothing he had on. Between them Geralt was the one who wasn’t dressed for the cold. Then again, he didn’t get hit with magic ice. The witcher closed the distance between them and took Jaskier’s hands between his own. They were freezing. 

“Just a little further Jaskier. We’re almost there.“

He brought his lips to their hands, releasing his breath on Jaskier’s cold fingers, attempting to warm them at least a little. Once they got out of the trees and into the cabin they spend the last three days in for this monster hunt, he’d be able to build a fire to keep his Bard warm. 

Jaskier crawled further into the cloak around his shoulders. Geralt’s cloak. Which he had put around Jaskier’s shaking frame without hesitation when it became clear the Bard was not getting any warmer. His body temperature already dropped too low for Geralt’s liking. And it would only drop further if he didn’t do something about it soon.

He wrapped an arm around Jaskier and pulled him in close. They walked further but the cold in Jaskier’s limbs slowed his movements. It spread faster now and it caused Geralt to pick the Bard up and march a quick pace back to the cottage they were using. 

He kicked the door open and shut with a single foot and put Jaskier down by the fireplace on a pile of blankets and pillows. He pulled another blanket around the shivering Bard and quickly lit the fireplace. The logs didn’t catch fire quick enough to his liking. 

“ _Igni_ “

Geralt murmured and signed the symbol, commanding the wood to catch flame instantly. Once there was a proper fire going he turned back to the Bard. He was awfully pale and his lips were turning blue. And he was also very quiet. Normally Geralt would have been grateful for a bit of silence. But not now. Not like this. In fact he’d rather hear Jaskier chatting away then the clatter of his teeth and whimpers of discomfort.

“Jaskier. Talk to me.“

Geralt said softly. His hands cupping the Bard’s face. Gods he was cold. Jaskier whimpered softly, pressing his face into Geralt’s warm hands further, trying to steal their warmth. Clothes and fire weren’t going to warm him. But it took too long to draw a hot bath. 

Geralt knew there was one other way he could possibly warm the bard up before he froze to death. Without hesitation he started pulling off his armor and his clothes. Working his way down to his smallclothes. Then he took the layers from Jaskier. The blankets, cloak, his doublet, shirt, chemise, breeches. Once they were equally naked he pulled the bard against his body. Goosebumps littered his skin when the cold of Jaskier’s frame pressed against him. 

Jaskier whimpered and curled up against the Witcher. Trying to draw in more of the heat. Geralt wrapped them both in two thick blankets while he cradled the shivering Bard to his chest. Their legs tangling. Slowly a bit of color started to return to Jaskier’s face. But it seemed to be more of a blush then an actual improvement to his condition. 

“You’re so warm..“

Jaskier sighed and snuggled further into Geralt’s hold. The witcher huffed.

“No. You got hit with magic ice. You’re cold.“

Jaskier looked up. Even his blue eyes seemed a little pale.

“I’m sorry.“ 

Geralt tilted his head down to look at the bard with a frown.

“For what?“

Jaskier bit his lip and gestured at their intimate position.

“This. The whole ice mess. Not listening to you. Getting hit with that.. s-stuff.“

He shivered again and Geralt made sure to pull him a little closer. Jaskier almost laid on top of him now, and all Geralt could do was curl around him protectively. 

“Don’t apologize idiot. Just get warm.“

Geralt mumbled low and full of concern. He sighed in relief when the ice scent around Jaskier slowly started to disappear. Drifting off to make way for his usual flowery scent, mixed with a hint of want. He tilted Jaskier’s head, lips pressing softly to the bard’s. Chasing the last of the stubborn ice away. He pulled back with a soft glow in his golden eyes. Gazing at the bard, he noticed how Jaskier’s usual color was returning. Thank the heavens.

“Are you warmer now?“

Geralt asked softly. Jaskier looked up with a tired smile.

“Why don’t you try again and then ask me?“

The witcher rumbled with a soft chuckle and dipped his head. Bringing their lips together. Jaskier shivered again but this time it wasn’t the cold making him do so. He curled himself into Geralt’s hold and smiled up at his Witcher.

“I’m not warm yet. But i’m definitely getting there.“

“Well then“

Geralt replied, and leaned in once again.


	4. Sorry

The first time Geralt tried to apologize to Jaskier after the dragon hunt, the bard had slammed the door in his face. Geralt had sighed and admitted to himself that he deserved that. He had waited for the door to reopen, but after calling Jaskier by his name three times the wooden slab was still his only view. 

When he finally decided to open the door and take a look it became apparent that Jaskier was very adapt at making his escape through any window. The witcher was sure he had enough practice over the years. Jaskier was gone and it hurt, but once again the witcher told himself that he deserved it. It was his own fault for chasing the bard away.

The second time Geralt tried to apologize faired no better. Jaskier was still furious and Geralt barely avoided getting hit with the back of Jaskier's lute. Something the bard would never use as a weapon unless he was absolutely livid. 

The third time the only two words Jaskier told him were "fuck off" before he used the crowded tavern to slip away. Geralt had sighed and retreated in defeat. Truth be told he was close to giving up. And yet he had to keep trying.

The fourth time Geralt could barely keep Jaskier from walking away. As he gripped a hand around the Bard's wrist, Jaskier turned his back and refused to look at the witcher. Geralt could smell the tears Jaskier didn't allow him to see. It pained Geralt to know that Jaskier was still hurting. That his words had never been a clean cut and the bard was still bleeding inside. A patron with the offer of a contract had interrupted and Jaskier didn't stick around for the hunt. 

The fifth time, Geralt could sense Jaskier was tired. Tired of trying to fight him, tired of running, tired of having his heart broken. The witcher understood that now. He wordlessly pulled the bard into a hug as the latter cried. And he took all the hits Jaskier swung at him in frustration. Hitting Geralt repeatedly in the chest with weak fists while he sobbed into the black shirt. Jaskier called him an idiot, a trampling boar, a big oaf and many other things meant as insults. Yet they were only proof of how much the bard cared and how badly Geralt had hurt him. And the voice that worded them was too broken and too soft.

Geralt had caged the bard in his arms while the other cried and fought him. Until the bard collapsed against him and gave up the fight. The last word he sobbed were: "i wish i could hate you." Before Geralt couldn't take it anymore and dropped on his knees. His arms wrapped around the Bard's waist and his head pressed against the fabric of Jaskier's colorful doublet. 

"Please.. Jaskier i.. Please, please forgive me." The witcher had pleaded, begged. He was never any good with words but it was all he had now to get the Bard back. A sad chuckle left Jaskier as he combed a hand through Geralt's white hair.

"I'm tired, Geralt. So tired. I've always been fighting for you without pause or fail. Even when you send me away. I was angry, sad, i wanted revenge but.... It's fighting _a_ _gainst_ you that breaks me."

The bard had laced his hands in the witcher's hair. Forcing Geralt to look up at him. The lines on his face were deeper from grieving and frowning and old age. His eyes had lost their brightness. Tell tale signs of him aging started to vaguely pop up on his features. Only announcing the fact that the witcher was running out of time.

"Please forgive me Jaskier. Without you i... I will never be the white wolf... without you, I will be the Butcher again... i..."

"Stop."

Geralt flinched at the word. And clenched his jaw. He didn't let go of the Bard, he couldn't. 

"Geralt, i-"

The witcher couldn't keep quiet. For all the talking that Jaskier had done in their company, fate now demanded the witcher would open up instead. And even though he was no poet or songwriter, even if he was no good with words, Geralt did his best to vocalize his feelings. 

"Jaskier, i was wrong. So wrong... I need you. Please forgive me."

Jaskier dropped to his knees to level himself with the witcher. 

"You said you didn't need anyone."

Geralt smiled softly. 

"Have you still not figured out that was an obvious lie? I need you Jaskier. Please... forgive me."

Jaskier shivered and took a shaky breath.

"I need time. And it will take more then just saying you're sorry. But you can start by never calling yourself butcher again."

Geralt nodded and found his arms full of the bard once more. 

"If you ever do that to me again i will kill you and then myself. So don't EVER do that again."

All Geralt could do was nod again. He knew he was not forgiven. He knew he'd have to work for it. But all of that would be worth it if he just had Jaskier by his side again. Geralt pressed their heads together and with all his heart made his promise:

"Never again."


	5. The last letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Angst, first person

How long it’s been, i can’t tell. I’m bloodied and broken with only wounds to tell the time. There is no light, no warmth, no passing. Only here and now, dark and cold. The pain had come to me like an old friend. Touching my skin, lacing my trembling body in ribbons of agony and hurt. It is bearable. As long as i feel pain on my skin, i won’t feel my heart in it’s shattered state.

I keep telling myself that i asked for this. That i did not resist so i would not escape quickly. I wanted to suffer. Why… Haven’t i suffered enough? I have been through hell and back before. Many times even. With you as my witness i tore my way through the wreckage that was my soul every time again. 

Some would say i brought this upon myself. I was stubborn. Good hearted. Positively light in a world that saw only darkness. Let’s not forget i held a darkness too. I would murder them all for dragging you through the mud. I’d prepare to strike and you’d drag me away kicking and screaming because i wanted to gauge their eyes out for looking at you that way. I wanted to feed their tongues to the dogs for ever speaking to, or about you like that. I wanted to spill blood to quench the anger i felt inside each time you’d slump your shoulders and walk away defeated like a kicked dog, when we both know you could have easily bested them all and forced your will to be done.

Now the blood that is spilling is mine. Perhaps i got careless. Perhaps i just needed the distraction. I don’t know. I can’t think. My head is spinning. There’s a mist in my mind. A fog i can’t seem to clear. All i know is that i won’t tell them where you are. Even if i knew, which i don’t. I wouldn’t tell them where to find you. I wouldn’t speak even if i knew i’d be sending them to their deaths. They cannot take you. You’d never allow it. Even if it would give me relief, i would rather tell them to fuck off. It sounds better.

I’m still bleeding. I feel light. I must be close now. I pray you will never know. I hope to the gods of all the spheres that you will never find me like this. Please… By Melitele, please… Don’t come looking for me. This is all i have left to give. I gave you everything else. Even when you so clearly expressed you didn’t want it. Oh my love… I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to know. I didn’t want to hold you back. And i don’t want it now.

Please… Please… My dear white wolf… My Witcher.. leave me. It hurts, yes. But… It will be over soon. They can’t break me. I will never be broken. Because i was never whole. I hope this letter never finds you. Why i wrote it with none but my blood as ink and my shaking hands as quill… i don’t know. False hope perhaps. Maybe a mirage of you, calling my name. It matters not. 

Forget about me. I’ll still be forever yours.

J-…


	6. Wish rant

On second thought.... how do we even know if Geralt really wished to be bound to Yennefer with his last wish? 

I haven't read the books. But if the show taught me one thing it's that Djinn are taking creative liberties with their master's wishes. Unless the books specifically mention what Geralt wished in words... this is what i think.

Bare with me here. First wish: peace. 

Now this could have come in many ways. The genie could have knocked Geralt's ass unconscious for a decade. He could have zapped him to another place/time/whatever. He could have undone the law of surprise one way or another, because you cannot tell me that a Djinn cannot do that. They are freaky powerful. 

But what does the Djinn do instead, he decides to one upp the asshole that is making him fulfill wishes and keeps him trapped until those wishes are fulfilled , by taking it out on Jaskier. 

Second: Geralt says "i want you to burst"... define burst. Did he specify the head? No. Did he specify physically? No. Well. Not in words. Perhaps this made more sense because Geralt was in a bad mood. But again, the djinn could have done literally anything to fulfill that request. I'm sure Geralt would have gotten out of prison just fine if the guy he wanted to burst had a rush of emotions and burst into tears or something. 

That's the problem with not being specific. The djinn will screw you over any way it can if you're not specific.

I believe the same rules hold for the third wish. Maybe Geralt wasn't specific enough and it caused the djinn to have a field day with that last wish and just purposely ruined it for the witcher out of spite. 

So you can't tell me that Geralt made a specific wish for his fate to be bound to yen's. That's just what rolled out of this mess, the djinn gave him the finger while flying off for sure.


	7. Blaviken

Is where it started. Where the fear gave birth to whispers and rumors of a monster. And during that time, who was he to believe that they were false?

He had seen the terror in their eyes. Smelled the iron stench of red in the air. It tainted everything. Her lifeless body on the street screaming at him “what have you done?” And honest to the gods he didn’t know. He just didn’t know.

It was a knife stabbing his heart as Marilka told him to leave and never to come back. She was a girl. A child. But the disappointment in her eyes broke something in him. She looked as any other human then, afraid, spiteful, unable to trust. If ever he tried to keep himself distant, if ever he would avoid conflict by turning on his heel, he would do so now even sooner then before.

Butcher, they called him. Butcher they named him. And though he promised himself; never again. Such a task was not simple neither realistic. Where he had spend his days in solitude before he now completely withdrew. It hurt when he realized he would never be anything more then this. What was the point really?

He’d go through the motions, void of feelings and thoughts because what were they if not a burden? Butcher was a title he could not seem to shed. How long could he keep going like this?

And then came

is where it gets weird. Because there’s this little fucking piece of sunshine bleating out lyrics that make no sense, but it’s actually fucking adorable and there’s no way in hell that he can show to the world that a Witcher has feelings, so he tucks it all away. 

He’s pretty sure they aren’t aware of his reputation here yet. Because otherwise he wouldn’t be sitting in the corner he’s in. The last thing he wants is to draw attention to himself. Knowing there’s a big possibility of him getting kicked out if they find out who he is. And he’s just so tired. He’s so done with getting kicked out. And then this ray of sunshine comes and sits across from him at the table and fuck it all this is the drop that will get him to crack. He needs to leave.

Funny thing, even after figuring out he’s the butcher, this bard seems insistent on coming closer. Flashes of blood in the streets and lifeless faces staring up at him race through his head, hitting all the warning bells. No one can get close. Everyone who does dies. This kid is young. Too young. He’s a fucking bard for gods sake. Go away. Go away and live.

Except he doesn’t. He doesn’t shut up and he doesn’t quit. And it only takes the word Butcher from this kid’s mouth to set him off and throw a punch. Desperate to get him to back off before he realizes the same as everyone else. Being around a witcher is being around a walking curse.

The bard does not agree. And after struggles with elves and an annoying song composed on the spot that gets stuck in your head for weeks, The witcher realizes he’s not getting rid of this one. He doesn’t quite know how to feel. He worries, he feels strange. He’s always been alone. Not anymore. Which is weird. And as if that doesn’t take the cake... what follows is 

RINDE


	8. Hands

What stumped Geralt the most was that Jaskier never touched him like he expected the other would. He had grown so accustomed to people handling him in a certain way that each time he and Jaskier were close it took him by surprise how Jaskier graced his skin with his fingertips. Careful and gentle. As if he could break.

Each time the Bard dressed his wounds or bathed him he just had such... care. In his hands. The same hands that would play for hours on end in almost every tavern they came across. The same hands that had gripped a drunk bastard by the throat and threatened to beat him up as well because the man insulted Geralt. 

Jaskier was only ever careful with his Lute. Or so Geralt thought. Until he noticed that, even the whores from brothels all over the continent were not as soft with him when curiously tracing his scars and asking about them. (Jaskier never asked about them in particular. Just in the stories and the details of monsters Geralt didn’t care to describe. But what could he do? He indulged the bard from time to time as a thanks and because... well... who could say no to Jaskier really?) 

But the way Jaskier handled him was... different. Warm, gentle, _patient._ Every time. Even if he was frustrated or they were arguing or if there was something that put his mood off, it didn’t change the way his hands touched and slid over Geralt’s skin. And Geralt... well... He had come to enjoy it. More so then he wanted to admit. Because Jaskier’s hands were magic and a witcher should never admit that he loved such a thing. 

But oh... Just the way those fingertips graced his skin when they changed a bandage. Or pressed into his flesh when they clutched a sponge and scrubbed the dirt and grime from his features. The way they gently pressed into the knotted muscles to help his body recover after a rough fight.. Geralt wished he could feel those hands everywhere. Always. Touch starved for only a single approach that had him breathless without anything happening yet. Yeah... if there was one thing he had to name that he loved most about the bard... it were his hands..


End file.
